


It's Swell, Though They Tell Me I'm Maladjusted

by hectocotyle



Series: liquidmantis shenanigans [4]
Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Asexual Character, Consensual Somnophilia, Consentacles, Masturbation, Nonbinary Character, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Other, Praise Kink, ballbusting, by way of belts, for a laughably loose definition of 'literature', liquid reprises his role as my literary punching bag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-25
Updated: 2016-08-25
Packaged: 2018-08-11 01:08:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7869526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hectocotyle/pseuds/hectocotyle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just an average day for FOXHOUND's resident lovebugs.</p><p>(Different universe from my previous liquidmantis stuff, but with similar relationship dynamics.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Swell, Though They Tell Me I'm Maladjusted

**Author's Note:**

> thought-speech is indicated by angle brackets (yeah, yeah, i know. i'm like a broken record)

<What part of "don't wake me up" was too complex for you to understand?>

Liquid halts, one hand spread flat on his furry chest, the fingers of the other hand frozen in the act of toying with his foreskin. The tip of his cock twitches against his lower belly, leaking profusely.

<I've half a mind to crush your balls into purée,> Mantis mutters. He's lying on his side with his back to Liquid and evidently can't be bothered to turn around and face him.

<Sorry. I thought I was being quiet.>

Mantis sleepily scratches his back (or maybe his butt, it's hard to tell through the sheets). <Says the man whose default speech volume is "eardrum-pulverizing". Remind me again why I gave you the go-ahead to jerk off next to me while I'm trying to sleep?>

<I can go finish somewhere else,> Liquid says lamely.

Mantis gives a big, drawn-out yawn ending in a "hmm". <No. Just make it quick. To that end, I permit you to think of me while you masturbate.>

Presumptuous, to say the least—if it were coming from anyone but Mantis. There's no keeping secrets from him, however embarrassing or depraved.

Horribly turned on by his own vulnerability, Liquid growls with pleasure as he squeezes roughly down the length of his dick, slicking it with a layer of pre.

<Here,> Mantis mumbles, reaching behind him under the covers. Liquid hisses through his teeth as bony knuckles nudge the wet underside of his dick. <Wipe me off when you're done. I'm going back to sleep.>

Liquid takes a moment to absorb this, breathing shallow. Hastily he kicks the bedsheets off of himself, refusing to miss out on the rare sight of Mantis's hand on his cock although he can barely make it out in the dark.

With something like reverence, he carefully wraps Mantis's dainty fingers around him. He's wearing his favorite arm-length leather gloves, the ones that leave the index finger and pinky exposed (not to mention his pale, slender shoulders). Liquid can only describe the effect as _frustratingly_ attractive.

He glances up at Mantis, watches the gentle rise and fall of his shoulder. He'd never considered what it might be like to do this with a sleeping person.

His dick does a sharp little jump in Mantis's palm.

Enfolding the hand in one of his own, he makes the first cautious, experimental stroke. The smoothness of uncallused fingers juxtaposed with the friction of leather makes Liquid's eyes roll back in his head. He bites down on his lower lip and swallows a heavy groan, not wanting to disturb Mantis again. It's the least he can do to repay his friend's generosity.

He fucks Mantis's fist at the steadiest pace he can stand so as not to jerk the poor bug's arm around too much. It's excruciatingly hot feeling Mantis grow sticky with his gross fluids. Changing tactics, Liquid holds the hand in place and grinds his dickhead into the palm, determined to foul that pretty hand further still.

Tensing, he flips the palm upward in time to fill it with shots of his semen, paints the lovely fingers with it too.

He spends a minute regaining his breath and turning Mantis's cum-striped hand this way and that. He huffs, annoyed; if only he could _see_ the mess he'd made.

There's a box of tissues on the nightstand, but frankly that method isn't lewd enough for Liquid. Instead he laps up the cum, sucks each of Mantis's fingers all the way into his mouth, meticulously threads his tongue through the spaces in between, until there isn't a speck of himself left behind. Only then does he take a tissue and wipe him down.

He tucks his friend's arm back under the covers and, sated, dozes off with his junk still hanging out of his open fly for all to see.

\----------

Later, when invisible hands start groping Liquid's ass during his lesson on the basics of CQC for a group of early-twenty-something-year-old recruits, it occurs to him that he really should've known Mantis wouldn't let him off the hook that easily.

"Keep your wits about you and you'll have no trouble disabling even a much larger opponent. Use his size against him," Liquid is explaining to his eager-eyed audience, hands on hips, when the first squeeze comes. A bizarre high-pitched noise escapes his throat, and he stares up in shock at Raven, who's to be his sparring partner. In any other situation he'd be more than happy to have his immense burly subordinate play ass-grab with him, but if he's going to set an example for these new recruits, he needs to at least _feign_ professionalism in front of them.

"Do you mind?" he hisses.

"Mind what?" Raven says. Liquid opens his mouth for a sarcastic reply, but Raven's look of total confusion throws him off balance. As if to confirm Raven's innocence, the apparently disembodied hands resume their merciless assault on his behind.

Oh. Of course.

What is he supposed to tell Raven and the others, though? "I'm afraid we'll have to reschedule, as my boyfriend is a psychic jerk who is currently long-distance fondling my ass to get back at me for waking him up in the middle of the night with my moaning as I wanked off next to him"?

Speak of the devil; Mantis laughs irritatingly in his head. <Have fun, Boss!>

<Remind me again why I gave you the go-ahead to molest me in public?> Liquid says, imitating Mantis's tone from the night before.

<I mean, if you want me to stop...>

Liquid slips into position behind Raven to hide his flustered expression from the new kids. <You don't have to.>

All things considered, the early portion of the demonstration isn't a complete disaster. He tosses Raven around like it's nothing, and his audience's obvious admiration provides an effective distraction from Mantis's mischief. Much as it irks him to admit it, Liquid may be even more desperate for recognition than for sex.

It's clear he isn't about to give in without a fight, so Mantis kicks it up a notch. <Oh, Boss, don't you just wish it were _Raven_ crushing _you_ to his strong, sweaty chest? >

<You're going to have to try harder than that,> Liquid scoffs.

As he executes another flawless throw, slamming Raven to the mat, Mantis says, <Hm. Imagine him dragging you into a disused storage room, bending you over and fucking you within an inch of your life.>

That sends a dangerous flush of heat through him. Why does he ever think it's a good idea to provoke Mantis?

Raven springs back up with uncanny agility for someone of his massive build, and Liquid reflexively shifts into a defensive stance.

<Or would you rather be forced flat on your belly and fucked right here in front of everyone?> Mantis's profound contempt for the whole concept of sex oozes from every syllable. <Show them their idol is really just a shameless slut? You could suck them all off afterward. I know you always swallow.> He punctuates this by lightly pushing a single psychic fingertip into the tight space between Liquid's firm asscheeks.

Suddenly having his crotch anywhere near Raven doesn't seem like such a brilliant idea. He excuses himself and makes a mad dash for the nearest restroom. He locks himself in a stall, almost cries in dismay when his frenzied attempt to beat off proves fruitless.

<Look at you,> Mantis tuts. <Hormone-addled beast.>

< _Please_ , Mantis,> he begs, bucking wildly into his slippery fist, knowing with dead certainty he'd already be blowing his load if not for Mantis manipulating his nerves.

<Mmm... tonight, perhaps—if you can show me you know your place.> With that, Mantis goes silent.

Stubborn as always, Liquid yanks at his dick until his body catches up with his brain and reluctantly accepts that it just isn't happening. With a low whine of frustration, he slumps to his knees and waits for his erection to subside the un-fun way.

\----------

<The great Liquid Snake, leader of FOXHOUND, laid low by a bout of the runs. So much for first impressions. Now they're all going to think I'm some kind of—> Liquid opens the door, sees Mantis and stops in his tracks. He points. <Is that... are those...>

<Sure are,> says Mantis, pleased with himself. Hooked to one of the metal loops on his outfit, six ludicrously long, black leather belts undulate like supple vines sprouting from his back.

<Vines? They're _clearly_ tentacles, Boss. >

Liquid shuts the door behind him, eyes following the hypnotic swaying of these so-called tentacles. <Where in the world do you get these ideas?>

Mantis coughs into his fist. <Oh, you know. Internet.>

Before Liquid can ask him to elaborate, the belts snap forward like whips, wrapping around his wrists and ankles and plucking him easily off the ground.

"Hey!" he barks, startled, then repeats the word in quite a different tone as the tentacles start stripping off his clothes—all of them.

He's slammed onto his back on the bed, a single belt cinching his hands together above his head, and he glances down, unsurprised to find his dick already half-hard from the rough treatment. The belts fastened around his ankles pry his legs apart until it hurts.

Mantis hovers before him, leering at his junk.

<Would your behavior improve,> he says, <if I castrated you?>

Heart stuttering, Liquid instinctively struggles to cross his legs, but the belts don't grant him even a millimeter of slack.

<Come now, Boss. If I don't punish you, how will you ever learn?>

Liquid cringes as a free tentacle coils around his balls, but it only lifts them out of the way so another tentacle can glide its tip up and down his perineum, ever so gentle. He shivers again and again, his moans soft and breathy.

<One minute,> continues Mantis. <That's all I ask. You robbed me of a minute of sleep, so that's how long I get to squeeze your nuts.>

Liquid recalls Mantis's offhand comment about puréeing his balls. His eyes water at the mere mental image.

<If you take it like a good boy, I'll do something nice for you. You'll like it, I promise.> A tentacle trails up the side of his cock, which by now is heavy with blood and dribbling pre all over his abdomen, the traitor.

Liquid looks at his hard-on morosely. It's not as if Mantis would actually coerce him into doing something like this, but the temptation of Mantis himself relieving him from his earlier blueballing is too powerful to resist. God _damn_ his hyperactive fucking libido.

Hearing his consent, Mantis floats forward and lowers the toe of his boot to Liquid's cheek, pressing his face sideways into the mattress (during which he makes a double-underlined mental note to ask Mantis to casually step on him more often). <Sweet boy,> he says, a smile in his voice.

The following sixty seconds crawl by in a fog of hideous, cramping agony which radiates from Liquid's abused testicles up into his gut; more than once he very nearly pukes.

At around the forty-second mark, the belt _tightens_ , and he releases an awful strangled squeal he would never have believed his vocal cords capable of producing if he weren't hearing it for himself. Mantis chuckles.

At the conclusion of the endless minute, Mantis lets go as promised. There's a brief, horrible spike in pain as his heavy balls drop and slide back into place, and he has the sinking feeling he's going to be limping for the next week.

Mantis sits beside him on the bed, cupping his boss's cheek in his hand. <What a brave boy you've been for me. I'm so proud of you.> He strokes Liquid's cheek with a tender thumb. Liquid eagerly nuzzles into his palm, almost forgetting the nauseating ache in his lower body.

<Let me take care of you now,> Mantis tells him, moving his hand up to smooth down his unruly blond hair.

He's caught off guard when his cock starts fountaining cum, the bliss of release all the more potent contrasted with the torture he's just been put through. This is no natural orgasm; Mantis controls his nerves to keep him writhing and gasping in impossible pleasure for a solid five minutes—or thereabouts, anyway; he's a bit too preoccupied to concern himself with specifics. Mantis pets his hair throughout, murmuring praise here and there.

As the fantastic climax ebbs, the tentacles free Liquid's arms and legs. Not that he's going to be getting up anytime soon; his bones feel like they've been reduced to the consistency of jelly, but pleasantly so.

<Why,> he has to ask, <do you indulge me? I'm so horny at all times, one wonders why you don't find me utterly repellent.>

Mantis tilts his head, thoughtful. He touches the old scar that cuts through Liquid's left eyebrow as he replies, <Seeing someone so clever and talented broken down to his most basic, mindless instincts... since it's you, it's endearing, I guess, in a gross sort of way. Like... hm. Like when the wolfdogs sniff each other's butts.>

Liquid wrinkles his nose. <Thanks.>

<Anytime. Now put some pants on, you Neanderthal.>

As Mantis drifts up from the bed, one of the belts gives Liquid's balls a friendly parting tap that almost makes him double over.

He reminds himself it's not as if his sperm were viable to begin with. The thought offers limited comfort. _Painfully_ limited.

 


End file.
